


Putting the Pieces Together

by vanillalime



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Angst, Community: oz_magi, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Gen, POV Minor Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 12:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13411359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillalime/pseuds/vanillalime
Summary: After his stabbing, Angus Beecher tries to move on with his life. Unfortunately, the actions of his family make that nearly impossible.





	Putting the Pieces Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drsquidlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drsquidlove/gifts).



> Originally posted to LiveJournal. Written for drsquidlove for Oz Magi 2017. The request:
> 
> Pairing/Character(s): Angus Beecher, maybe some other people.  
> Keyword/Prompt Phrase: Something featuring Angus Beecher, post-Angus-stabbing. Like the next time Toby and Angus see each other, or a conversation in the Beecher family home, something like that.  
> Canon/AU/Either: canon, preferably, but if you have a good idea...  
> Special Requests:  
> Story/Art/Either: Story please. 
> 
> There are a few lines in this story lifted directly from canon (but used in a different context). Credit to Tom Fontana.

_~ Langdell Library, Harvard Law School ~_

Angus checked his watch and groaned. He wasn't ready, but it was time to go.

He took off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. Patent Litigation was his most difficult class, and, according to legend, the final exam was a bitch. He hadn't felt this stressed since the terror of first-year Contract Law.

He attempted a deep, calming breath, but a sharp pain shot through his ribs instead. Gritting his teeth, he gingerly ran his fingers over his abdomen, stroking the freshly-formed scar through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

He had missed three Patent Litigation lectures and two seminars when he’d been laid up in the hospital. Everything had been just fine up until then. After the stabbing, though, he’d been forced into playing catch-up the rest of the semester. That's when it had all gone to hell.

Angus snorted. Who was he kidding? Things had gone to hell a long time ago. 

He gathered his books and notes and pens and his bottle of antacid tablets and stuffed them all in his backpack. Thank God this was his last exam. Tonight he’d pack up, and tomorrow he’d be on his way home for Christmas.

That was something to look forward to. At least, in theory. But when he stopped to really think about it…

Angus shook his head. He needed to concentrate on patent litigation, not family drama.

He put on his coat and grabbed his backpack. _You can invalidate an underlying patent by convincing a jury that sufficient relevant prior art exists…_

He started walking toward the library's exit and was surprised to see someone else studying at the other end of the table. He thought he’d been alone. He recognized her, too—it was that cute blonde who lived on the opposite end of his floor. He didn’t know her by name, but he'd seen her hanging out with the first-years.

She was sitting there with her eyes closed, resting her forehead against her upright, clasped hands. Angus couldn’t tell if she was sleeping or praying. At least she wasn’t crying—that was a good sign. Throwing caution to the wind, he paused by her chair and cleared his throat.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him in surprise.

Leaning over, he said in a hushed tone, "Praying doesn’t help, you know. If it did, everyone here would be a straight-A student." Then he winked.

The bewildered expression on her face gradually disappeared, and she responded with a soft giggle. Angus took note of the deep dimples in her cheeks. Amid the chorus of surrounding _"Shhhhs,"_ he said, "Good luck." 

"Thanks," she whispered in reply.

Then Angus turned around and left the library, heading toward his final exam with a small smile planted firmly on his face.

 

_~ Hastings Hall, Harvard Law student dormitory ~_

Angus stood in the lobby and pushed the elevator button again. And again. And three more times in quick succession. The building’s old elevators were as slow as molasses, but he was in no mood to walk up five flights of stairs. He was exhausted—physically, mentally, spiritually.

The doors finally opened, and Angus waited impatiently for the elevator’s occupants to exit. Then he walked in, turned around, and pressed 5. Twice. As the doors began to shut, he glanced out into the lobby and saw a flash of long blonde hair racing toward him. He quickly stuck his hand between the doors, causing them to retract.

The girl from the library stumbled into the elevator and blurted, "Thanks!"

Angus smiled at her as he withdrew his hand. He loved this old elevator after all.

"Five, right?" 

"Yes," she confirmed.

He pressed the button once more. The elevator doors closed, and it started to move. 

Angus shifted his backpack, trying to strike a confident-yet-carefree pose. "So, how did it go?" he casually asked.

"Okay, I think," she sighed. "You?"

"Okay, I think," he echoed. Now the elevator was moving too damn fast. "Was that your last exam?"

"Yes, thankfully."

An awkward silence began to settle in. Trying to keep the conversation going, Angus cautiously inquired, "I don't believe I know your name… "

"Buffy."

His eyes opened wide in disbelief. In all his years of mingling with preppy, upper-class society girls, Angus had never met one actually named Buffy. Reflexively, he choked out, "Really?" then instantly regretted it as Buffy furrowed her brow. 

His mind racing, Angus tried desperately to recover. "Just like the vampire slayer, huh?" he suggested.

Buffy shrugged uncertainly and looked up at the floor indicator. "Yeah, I guess."

"I’m Angus." In a self-deprecating tone, he added, "Just like the cow." He lowered his head and pouted.

Buffy glanced sideways at him and suddenly burst out laughing. Angus breathed an internal sigh of relief.

The elevator doors opened, and they both stepped out into the hallway. Angus knew it was now or never. 

"Hey, would you like to grab a cup of coffee somewhere?" he asked. "Or maybe a quick bite? I’ve been craving this incredible quiche that Crema Cafe makes."

Buffy frowned. "Sorry, I can’t," she replied. "I’ve already got plans with some friends."

Angus nodded his head and mumbled a disappointed "Okay."

"We’re all going to happy hour at Fitzgerald’s to celebrate the end of the semester," Buffy quickly explained. She hesitated for a moment, then added playfully, "To be frank, I find the idea of getting hammered to be very appealing right now. Maybe you’d like to join us?"

"Oh," said Angus, suddenly feeling very self-consciousness. "I don’t drink."

Buffy blinked. "Oh," she repeated awkwardly.

Angus could’ve kicked himself. He had yet to find a way to say that without sounding self-righteous or judgmental. "But thanks for the offer," he added weakly.

Buffy pushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear. "Well then, enjoy your break," she said.

"Thanks," Angus replied, forcing a smile. "You, too." 

But Buffy had already turned around and was walking away.

 

_~ The Beecher Family Estate ~_

After throwing his empty duffle bag into a corner of the room, Angus found himself suddenly gasping for air. He quickly made his way toward his bed, sat down, and began practicing the breathing exercises the therapist had taught him. 

An old framed poster from "The Paper Chase" hung on the opposite wall, and he stared back into the eyes of James T. Hart, the frazzled Harvard Law School student depicted in the film. _You may be looking at a future President, Supreme Court Justice, Secretary of State, or a dropout,_ read the poster’s tagline. 

Angus slowly exhaled and thought of Toby. Better to be a dropout than a convicted felon.

A few minutes later, he got up and grabbed his bag of toiletries. He made his way down the hall to the bathroom and began unpacking his things, pushing aside the bottles of Cinderella Shampoo and Sleeping Beauty Bubble Bath to make room for his razor and shaving gel. He was never going to get used to sharing a bathroom with a seven-year-old girl.

Then again, he imagined Holly was less-than-thrilled about having to share a bathroom with him. She probably viewed him as a visiting guest, rather than a college student returning to his lifelong home.

Well, one more semester, and it wouldn’t matter. That was, of course, assuming he graduated. Assuming he passed the bar. Assuming he found a job.

Suddenly feeling nauseous, Angus popped a couple of antacid tablets into his mouth. Maybe he was developing an ulcer on top of everything else. He tossed the rest of his toiletries into the cabinet under the sink and stepped back out into the hallway, where his eyes came to rest on the closed door that had once led to Gary’s bedroom.

He paused, wondering if his parents had ever got around to cleaning out Gary’s room. If he were to open the door, would he see Gary’s clothes still lying on the floor? Pokemon cards on an unmade bed? A half-finished Lego kit on the desk? 

Angus swallowed hard. He couldn’t bring himself to find out.

He turned back toward his own room and caught a glimpse of two blue eyes peering at him from behind a third bedroom door. Angus smiled and approached them, but they quickly disappeared.

He knocked gently on the half-closed door. "May I come in?"

The door opened a little wider, and Angus was suddenly engulfed in a world of pink ruffles and lace, with a small blonde girl at the center of it all.

"It’s good to see you again, Holly."

Holly stood silently, looking at Angus with an unreadable expression on her face.

His parents had warned him that communicating with Holly might require some extra effort. After his stabbing, she had stopped talking again for a while.

Angus glanced around the room and took note of the oversized bookcase brimming with thin paperbacks. "Read any good books lately?" he asked.

Holly didn’t answer, but she nodded her head in the direction of her bed. Angus followed her gaze and saw a small pile of Nancy Drew mysteries resting on the nightstand. Angus smiled. A kick-ass female detective seemed like a good role model for Holly. 

He fleetingly wondered, though, if his mother had thought to screen out any books involving kidnapping cases.

Holly moved unsurely toward a shelf overflowing with puzzles and board games, and Angus took the hint. "Would you like to play a game?" he asked. "How about Candy Land?"

Holly quickly turned back to face him, a shocked look on her face. "Candy Land is for babies," she informed him, quietly but clearly. She hesitated for a second, then said, "How about Battleship?"

Angus grinned. God, he hadn’t played that in ages. "That sounds great."

Holly removed the two worn Battleship units from the shelf and handed one to Angus. She proceeded to sit down on the floor in the middle of the room, and he followed her lead.

As they set up their plastic fleets, Angus told her, "This used to be my game, you know. Santa Claus gave it to me for Christmas one year when I was about your age, maybe a little older. I’m surprised we still have it after all these years." A few moments later, he glanced at Holly and asked, "You ready?"

But Holly didn’t answer. Instead, she sat staring at her grid. Angus waited patiently.

Finally, she looked up and said, "Do you think Santa Claus delivers presents to children in heaven?"

Angus froze while his gut did a flip. He frantically wished his mother was nearby to handle this. His brain quickly filed through various responses, and he decided to go with one that seemed honest, yet optimistic. 

"I don’t think so," he said slowly, "because everyone is already so happy there. It’s like Christmas every day. They don’t need presents to celebrate it."

Holly just sat there, staring at him.

"I’m sure Gary is very, very happy in heaven," Angus reassured her. After thinking about it, he softly added, "And your mother, too."

Holly rolled her eyes and huffed. She bitterly muttered, "I don’t think my mother is in heaven."

Once again, Angus was caught completely off-guard. Did Holly know about her mother’s suicide? Had someone told her? Had she figured it out on her own? Or was this about something else altogether?

As he sat speculating, Holly called out, "E-6." 

Angus tried to switch gears. He made a mental note to let his parents know that additional therapy sessions for Holly might be warranted.

"Miss," he replied shakily. "C-3."

They continued to play Battleship until Holly had successfully sunk the last of Angus’s boats, thanks to some discreet, timely rearrangements on Angus’s part. After gathering the pieces together, Holly returned the game to its shelf, then watched Angus as he slowly got up from the floor and stretched.

"How’s your stomach doing?" she asked him curiously.

Angus furrowed his brow in confusion. Had she seen him taking those antacids earlier? 

Then Holly put her fist out in front of her and quickly brought it back in, silently acting out a crude but accurate stabbing motion. 

So, that’s what she meant. "Much better, thank you," he answered.

Holly stared at him intently. "It looked like it really hurt."

"It did."

"You really scared Daddy."

Angus sighed and sat down on Holly’s bed. His attack was the last thing he wanted to talk about, but apparently Holly felt otherwise. 

Cautiously, he told her, "I think everyone was a little scared."

Holly put her hand on her hip. "There's a lot I don't understand about that day. Did you know that we flew all the way to France?"

Angus silently nodded his head.

"Then, after we got there, we turned right back around and flew home again!"

Holly was getting worked up. Obviously, she’d spent some time thinking about that day's events, and Angus suspected she’d been keeping all those thoughts to herself.

"The bad man who hurt Gary is dead, isn’t he?"

Angus blinked. "Yes," he whispered. He didn’t know what else to say.

Holly continued to stare at him. Finally, she asked, "Is it my fault he's dead?"

Oh, Jesus. What? "No, Holly. _No._ "

"Am I the reason you got hurt?"

"No!" Shit. _Shit._

"Are there people who want to hurt Daddy?"

Angus took a deep breath, this time ignoring the pain it caused. 

"Listen, Holly," he tried to say calmly. "I’m going to be honest with you. There are some really bad people in Oz… people like the guy who hurt me, people like the guy who hurt Gary. But there are some nice people there, too. People who like your dad and watch out for him and protect him from the bad people. He’s fine."

Holly stood there, looking skeptical. He couldn’t tell if she believed his answer or not. 

"What happened the day I got hurt was very unusual," he added. "It had nothing to do with you personally. Or me. Then everybody overreacted because they didn’t really understand what was going on."

Holly nodded her head in agreement. "Yeah, it was all very weird." She was quiet for a moment, then she suddenly turned toward the door. 

"I smell cookies," she said. "I bet Grandma's baking a batch."

Then she walked out of the room, leaving Angus all alone to wade through his own memories of that day, memories that he’d done his best to forget…

 

_~ Benchley Memorial Hospital, one month earlier ~_

_Angus heard himself moan as he tried to regain his senses. He wanted to open his eyes, but the lids felt so very heavy._

_"I think his anesthesia is wearing off."_

_Mother? No, the voice was too high._

_"Angus?" called a second voice through the fog. "Can you hear me?"_

_Dad? Angus managed to open an eye wide enough to see a blurry shape by his bedside. Not Dad. Too short. Too thin. He opened his other eye and slowly brought the shape into focus._

_"Swanny?" What was Dad’s private investigator doing here?_

_"Yeah, it’s me," Swanny answered. "Don’t worry, Angus, you’re going to be just fine. Everything is just fine."_

_A nurse leaned over him and adjusted his IV. "How do you feel, Angus?" she asked, and he realized it was her voice he’d heard earlier._

_"Confused," he managed to gasp._

_"I’ll go get the doctor," she said. Patting his arm, she added, "And I’ll let the police know you’re awake."_

_The nurse left the room. Angus watched Swanny as Swanny watched her go._

_"Where’s my mother? Where’s Dad?"_

_Swanny quickly turned back to face him. "They’re fine, Angus. They’re flying back home."_

_"Fying home? Where’d they go?"_

_"They took Holly to Paris. Just to be safe."_

_"Paris… France?"_

_"Look, Angus, we don’t have much time," Swanny urgently explained. "The police will be in here any minute to ask you questions."_

_"Why did they go to France?"_

_"Angus! I need you to listen to me!"_

_Keeping his mouth shut, Angus did his best to glare in Swanny’s direction._

_"The police are going to show you some mugshots. They’re going to want you to identify the man who stabbed you."_

_"Good," Angus retorted. "I remember just what he looked like."_

_Swanny abruptly shook his head. "No. No, you don’t."_

_"What do you mean? His face was inches away from mine, of course I remember it!"_

_Swanny leaned down over him. "Listen, Angus, it’s very important that you don’t identify him. No good will come of it," he warned. He hesitated, then continued, "While you were in surgery, the man responsible for your attack promised that he wouldn’t hurt anyone else in the family. Everyone is safe now, and that’s all that matters."_

_Angus opened his eyes wide in surprise. "Wait… you already know who did this to me?"_

_"It was Hank Schillinger’s father." Swanny paused to take a deep breath. "Hank Schillinger was found dead."_

_"You’re kidding! What happened?"_

_"We can talk about it later," Swanny replied anxiously. "Right now, you need to trust me. The police can’t help us. We need to drop the whole matter. Just tell them you can’t remember anything. Tell them it all happened too fast. Do you understand?"_

_"No."_

_"Angus!" Swanny hissed._

_The door to his room opened and in walked the nurse, accompanied by another woman Angus supposed was the doctor. They were followed by two guys in cheap-looking suits with frowns on their faces. One gripped a notepad, while the other carried a large binder._

_Angus looked back at Swanny and their eyes met. In a low voice, Angus muttered, "I understand."_

_He watched Swanny sigh in relief. Swanny nodded his head and said, "Good boy."_

 

_~ Visitors’ Room, Oswald State Correctional Facility ~_

Angus sat at the table, waiting nervously for a guard to bring Toby into the room. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to be talked into coming here. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to be _guilted_ into coming here.

According to his mother, Toby had practically been begging for Angus to come visit him. She said he felt horrible about what had happened to Angus, and she thought it was important for Toby to see how well he was doing. And Toby had seemed so lonely ever since his… friend… had left Oz, and the holidays there were always so hard on him, and, and…

And here Angus was.

He felt like he was going to throw up.

Then the door to the room opened, and in walked Toby. As always, it was such a shock to see him at first, so much leaner than when he’d been sent to Oz, and without the glasses he’d worn since high school. Angus was quick to recover, though, and he stood up and gave Toby a big smile, even if it was a hollow one.

Toby greeted him with a hug, then pulled away. "How are you doing, Angus?"

"Much better," Angus informed him, in what had become his customary reply. They both took their seats at the table. 

"How was Christmas?"

"Good. It was good."

"How’s Holly? Mother and Dad?"

"Everyone’s great," Angus told him. "Santa Claus brought Holly the Barbie Dream House she wanted, so she’s been on cloud nine. She was a little reluctant about leaving home to go visit Gen’s parents, but the promise of more gifts eventually brought her around."

Toby chuckled softly. Then he leaned forward, asking, "And I guess Harry is well?"

Angus shrugged. "I guess."

Toby’s smile faltered slightly, and his eyes took on a far-away look before drifting back into focus. "Got any plans for New Year’s Eve?" he asked conversationally.

Angus tilted his head. He’d been expecting a bit more sympathy and concern from Toby regarding his physical and mental well-being before delving into mundane chit-chat. Ah, well. 

"The Guenzels are throwing a party. Mother and Dad and I are all going."

"Oh, that’s nice. I always liked Mr. Guenzel."

"Me, too," agreed Angus. He hesitated, then added mischievously, "That Adam can be a bit of an ass, though," which elicited a snort from Toby.

"I assume," Angus cautiously continued, "that you don’t do anything special here to celebrate the New Year?"

"No, we don’t," Toby replied, then his face suddenly broke into a surprisingly large grin. "Last year was different, though," he reminisced. "Last New Year’s Eve was _fantastic._ " 

Toby started laughing, and Angus stared at him in bewilderment. He suspected he didn’t want to know what went on in Oz last New Year’s Eve, but he wondered about it all the same.

Toby’s laughter gradually faded. Still smiling, he said, "There’s a guy in here, an older guy, who’s getting married next week. I’ve been thinking we should celebrate that somehow, though. Maybe throw him a bachelor party or something."

Angus gaped at him in astonishment. "Getting married? You can get married while you’re in prison?"

"Yes, Angus," Toby huffed condescendingly. "You can get married while you’re in prison."

Angus pursed his lips in annoyance. Well, excuse me, Toby, for not knowing the ins and outs of prisoner rights and privileges.

Toby looked down at the table. Shaking his head, he mumbled, "Sorry."

"That’s all right."

An awkward silence settled over them. 

Toby cleared his throat and looked up again. "Angus, I want to ask you for a huge favor."

Angus shifted uneasily in his seat. "Uh, sure."

"I assume you’re aware that Keller, that Chris… " Toby paused, then sighed longingly. "You know, the guy I was… "

"I know." Angus nodded his head vigorously. He really didn’t want Toby to go into the specifics.

"He was transferred out of here after his confession. They took him to Massachusetts, where Hank’s body was found. He’s in Cedar Junction, to be exact."

Toby stared at him intently with his sad, wounded eyes. Suddenly, Angus realized where Toby’s favor was headed, and his stomach dropped to the floor.

"Angus, it’s only about 45 minutes from campus."

No, no. NO. Absolutely not.

Toby reached down and pulled something out of his pants pocket. It was a thin, white envelope that he proceeded to unfold and flatten out on the tabletop, his hands shaking.

"I’ve been writing him every other day," Toby said, his voice cracking, "and I have yet to hear back from him. I don’t know what’s going on. Maybe my letters aren’t getting through, or maybe his aren’t getting out. Or maybe he just won’t answer me for some reason… " 

Toby’s voice faded away. He slowly pushed the envelope across the table toward Angus. 

"Please, Angus," he pleaded. "Once you get back to school, go visit him. Give him this letter for me. Find out what’s going on. See if he’s okay."

"Toby… "

"Maybe bring him a little present, too," Toby plowed on. "Nothing fancy, of course… I was thinking maybe some socks." He smiled weakly. "They’re sort of an inside joke between us."

Angus frowned. "Maybe I could smuggle in a file, too, while I’m at it," he suggested sarcastically.

Toby’s smile disappeared. "Do you have a problem with this, Angus?"

"Yes, I do!" Angus blurted out. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a guard turn to look at them. Lowering his voice, he said, "Toby, I don’t think I can do it."

"Why the fuck not?" Toby snapped. "It’s not that complicated. I’m asking you to take a small package from point A to point B."

"Toby, listen to yourself! Don’t you get it?" Angus exclaimed. "You’re asking me to make a trip to another prison—another _maximum-security_ prison—to visit your boyfriend! Who happens to be a murderer! I can barely handle coming _here_ to see _you_!"

Toby flinched, as though Angus had struck him. He slumped down in his chair. "Don’t bother visiting me, then," he said softly. "The last thing I want to be is some kind of burden."

Angus cringed. "Jesus, that’s not what I meant." He suddenly felt like shit.

They sat there in silence for a minute before Toby gathered himself together and leaned forward. "Look," he said. "Don’t do this for me. Do it for Chris. It’s the least this family can do for him, after what he did for us."

Angus raised an eyebrow. Against his better judgment, he decided to ask. He needed to know.

"Are you referring to his ordering the hit on Hank?" Angus quietly inquired. "Or something else?" He swallowed, then added, "Tell me, Toby, exactly what did he do for us?"

Toby’s eyes met his, but his face remained expressionless. He studied Angus for a moment, then gave him a odd smile, a look that Angus had never seen before, and it sent shivers down his spine. 

"I would have thought that was fairly obvious," Toby mysteriously replied, and his voice had an unusual edge to it. "Don’t they teach critical thinking at Harvard Law?"

Angus looked away. Unfortunately, Toby was right. It _was_ fairly obvious, once you stopped to think about it.

He took Toby’s letter and stuffed it into his pocket.

 

_~ The Beecher Family Estate ~_

Angus sat at the kitchen table and took another bite of his ham sandwich, made from the last of the Christmas leftovers. Even with all the fixings, it tasted like sawdust. He finally gave up and pushed the half-eaten plate toward the center of the table.

He heard the garage door open, and he anxiously twisted his napkin into a ball. A few minutes later, his father walked into the kitchen, carrying a brown paper bag full of groceries.

"Angus!" his father exclaimed. "You’re home earlier than I’d expected."

Angus crossed his arms. "Yeah, traffic was lighter than usual."

Harrison began unloading the bag’s contents onto the kitchen countertop. "I was out getting the ingredients to make my smoked fish dip for the Guenzels’ party," he explained. "Olivia made a special request for it."

"That sounds great."

Harrison emptied the bag, then glanced sideways at Angus. "How’s Toby?" he asked uneasily.

In carefully measured words, Angus replied, "He seemed all right. You know how it is."

Harrison nodded his head, then looked away again.

"I think he’s a little lonely, to be honest," Angus continued. "I think he misses that Chris Keller."

Angus watched his father closely, but his words produced no reaction. Harrison opened the refrigerator door and put his cream cheese and sour cream inside.

"He asked me to visit Keller in Cedar Junction once I get back to school."

That got his father’s attention. Harrison stopped in his tracks, then turned and looked directly at Angus. "He did?" he asked incredulously.

Angus nodded his head. "Yeah. I’m not sure what to do. He told me that this family owed it to Keller, which seemed like an odd thing to say."

Harrison turned away again to close the refrigerator, saying nothing.

Angus hesitated, screwing up his courage. He had thought long and hard about what to do, and he couldn’t just let it go. He loved his parents unconditionally, but this family had a long history of refusing to face facts, often leading to detrimental results. He wasn’t going to be Exhibit A for that.

"You know what, Dad? Something tells me that Toby is the one who ordered the hit on Hank Schillinger."

His father slowly folded his grocery bag flat. Keeping his eyes down, he quietly said, "Chris Keller confessed to that crime."

"I know, but that doesn’t make any sense. Why would Keller want to see Hank Schillinger dead?"

"Toby says that he and Keller love each other," Harrison answered in obvious discomfort. "Love makes you do strange things. One could theorize that Keller had Hank Schillinger killed because of all the pain he caused Toby."

"One could also theorize that Keller confessed to a crime he didn’t commit to protect Toby. To protect this family."

His father looked away and gave no response. His silence and his refusal to make eye contact with him all but confirmed Angus’s worst fears. His heart began to race and his palms grew sweaty, but he had come too far to back down now.

"Something also tells me that it would cost a lot more than a carton of cigarettes to arrange a hit like that," Angus continued. "If Toby is indeed the one who ordered it, he must have received some kind of help in making the payment. _Outside_ help."

Finally, Harrison turned to face him. With flushed cheeks, he glared at Angus. "I understand what you’re trying to imply, Angus," he retorted. "And I swear to you, _I swear to you on Gary’s grave,_ that I had nothing to do with the death of Hank Schillinger, directly or indirectly." 

Lifting his chin up, Angus stared at him skeptically.

"Don’t get me wrong, I hated Hank Schillinger," his father seethed, his voice rising. "I hated him for what he did to Gary, for what he did to Holly. I hate that he evaded punishment due to a technicality."

Harrison paused to take a deep breath, then continued slightly calmer. "But I love the law. The legal technicality that got him off also serves a real purpose. It provides critical protection to those who deserve it.

"I firmly believe in the system, Angus. And, yes, while that system fails on occasion, it is not an excuse to take matters into your own hands. It is not my role in society to carry out justice. If our legal system can’t deliver it, it will ultimately be administered by God himself."

Harrison placed his hand over his heart. "I will admit, I did feel a certain degree of satisfaction when I learned of Hank Schillinger’s death. But I would never, ever want to be the person responsible for bringing it about."

"I would," said a voice from the doorway.

Angus spun his head around to see his mother standing there, watching them. He began to panic as he wondered how much of their conversation she’d overheard. Then, as she continued talking, his fears escalated…

"I believe some crimes are too horrific to go unpunished," his mother declared emphatically. "I believe some criminals are too evil to be allowed to live. Hank Schillinger deserved to die. I hope he died a slow, painful death."

The hate on his mother’s face distorted her normally amiable features. Angus had never seen her act so defiant, so defensive.

"As a matter of fact, I wish I could have pulled that trigger myself," she angrily proclaimed. "I would have relished the opportunity."

Angus’s eyes opened wide, and he looked back at his father. His father had turned away again, facing the kitchen window, his eyes closed, his face white.

As Angus continued to stare at his father, the pieces fell together, and his blood ran cold. He heard his mother say something about the florist and a centerpiece, and he sensed her leaving the room. 

Eventually, Harrison opened his eyes. He slowly turned to look at Angus, and their eyes met in mutual understanding.

Angus felt like he’d been stabbed all over again.

 

_~ Harvard Square ~_

Wrapping his scarf securely around his neck, Angus stepped out of the drugstore and into the gently falling snow. In his gloved hand he clutched a cheap plastic bag. Inside the bag was lip balm, a bottle of antacid tablets, and a 10-pack of industrial-strength athletic socks.

Angus aimlessly strolled through the square, taking in the sights and sounds and smells of student life. Tomorrow held the promise of the fresh start of a new semester—his last semester of school—and he was trying to look forward to it. He needed to look forward to something, even if it was four months of stress-inducing papers and exams and law review publications.

Angus switched the bag to his other hand and sighed. Thank God he remembered to buy more antacids.

Dusk descended quickly, and Angus decided to head back to his dorm. He slowly walked in the general direction of Hastings Hall, until the glimmering gold letters on the sign for Fitzgerald's Pub caught his eye.

Angus hesitated for a moment, then approached the bar’s window and looked inside. Through the foggy glass, he could make out a sizable, but not overwhelming, crowd of people… fellow students cheerfully reuniting after the holiday break, drinking, talking, laughing with each other.

Angus stood there, thinking, for a long time.

Then he walked to the door, opened it, and stepped inside.

Weaving his way through assorted groups of people, he made his way to the bar. He sat down on a stool and dropped his bag to the floor. As he anxiously pushed his fingers through his hair, the bartender approached him with a warm smile, asking, "What can I get ya?"

Angus cleared his throat. "Scotch, on the rocks. Please."

"Comin’ right up."

The bartender quickly poured him a glass and set it down in front of him before moving on down the bar. Angus shrugged off his coat and hung it on the back of the stool. Then he took a long sip of his drink.

He promptly developed a numb, tingling sensation in his fingertips and wondered if he was having a stroke.

A few minutes and several sips later, he saw a familiar flash of long blonde hair out of the corner of his eye. 

"Well, look who’s here!" Buffy’s voice cried out.

Angus drained his glass before turning around to face her.

She tapped his arm and gave him a sly grin. "I thought you said you didn’t drink!"

Angus held his glass up. With a wistful smile, he looked directly into her eyes and said, "Maybe I just needed a good reason to."

Buffy laughed flirtatiously and hopped up on the stool next to him, while Angus signaled the bartender for another round.


End file.
